


love comes in many forms

by vendettaway



Category: Newsies - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Minor Injuries, i'll update as i go along but at this point what the heck do i tag this with
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-24
Updated: 2018-04-16
Packaged: 2019-01-04 21:25:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12176850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vendettaway/pseuds/vendettaway
Summary: just a buncha oneshots based off this post https://faithfulwhispers.tumblr.com/post/143302966236/send-me-a-number-and-a-paring-and-ill-write-achapter names are the prompts i used





	1. here, let me see

_Thump._

“ _Cazzo!_ ”

Spot rolled his eyes. Race had been in his apartment for less than half an hour and, if the string of Italian curse words coming from the kitchen were anything to go by, he had already injured himself.

“Hey, Spot?” his friend squeaked.

Spot frowned – usually he kept up his irritated swearing longer when he hurt himself. “Band-Aids are in the top left cupboard if you cut yourself.”

“I know, I don’t need one. Can you come here?” Race said. “Please?” he added, quite uncharacteristically.

Spot sighed and heaved himself off the sofa, trudging into a seemingly empty kitchen.

“I’m down here.” came a voice from behind the counter. He walked around it to find Race lying on his back, covered in what looked like sugar and gritting his teeth in pain. Spot burst into a fit of laughter at the sight of his best friend’s embarrassed face glaring up him.

“Don’t laugh at me, Conlon, I’ll kick your ass.” Race complained.

“Higgins, may I ask: what the fuck?”

“I was making coffee and I - _God, my head_ – I spilled milk and slipped on it, now help me up.”

Spot couldn’t help but laugh again as he held his hand out for Race to pull himself up. As Race brushed himself off, Spot noticed a red smear on the kitchen tiles.

“Race, turn around.” He gave him a confused look. “Just turn around.”

Race turned around and Spot tentatively touched the crown of his head, where a small, dark stain had formed in Race’s hair. He flinched away from Spot’s touch.

“Ow, fuck- that hurts, _bastardo_.”

“You’re bleeding, dude.”

Race’s hand flew to the back of his head, turning around to face Spot with exaggerated concern on his face. “I told you, your kitchen drawers are out to get me. I don’t want to go down in history as the guy who was killed by a cabinet.”

“You’re not going to die, dumbass.”

“How do you know I don’t have a concussion?” he insisted. “I could die from a concussion.”

Spot pulled out his phone, turned on the torch and flashed it in Race’s face. “There – normal reaction. You’re fine.”

Race scowled. “I don’t feel fine.”

“Go sit on the sofa. I’ll get stuff to disinfect it, you asshat.” Spot tried to ignore that the way his friend stuck his tongue out at him before leaving made his heart beat a tiny bit faster.

Spot entered the living room with antiseptic and bandages to find Race sitting cross-legged on the sofa, his right hand massaging the area that had bruised behind his head.

“Here, let me see.” Spot knelt behind him, praying he didn’t notice the way he had almost-intentionally put his legs on either side of his Race’s hips. He needed to be close to do this properly, anyway. There was nothing wrong with that.

Race hissed and tensed his shoulders as Spot cleaned the blood from his hair and wiped down the cut.

“It’s stopped bleeding but I’ll bandage it for a little bit, just in case.” Spot said, cutting a square of gauze. “I don’t want your blood all over my living room – Jack will kill me if I ruin his throw pillows.”

Race laughed, and Spot struggled in vain to ignore that change in his heart rate.

 _God help me if anyone knew about this,_ he thought as he wrapped a bandage around Race’s head. Race and Jack, who was his childhood friend and roommate, were the only two people Spot usually allowed himself to be vulnerable around. To everyone else he was tough and defensive. Not to say he couldn’t have fun, he just didn’t enjoy being open to anyone he hadn’t known for a while. Even then, there was no way he could let on to Race that lately he had been thinking about him a little differently.

He forced the thought out of his head. “I’m done, dumbass. You’re welcome.”

Race shuffled out of his place on the sofa and sat next to Spot. “Where’d you learn to do that?”

“I learned how to disinfect and bandage a wound through common sense and not being an idiot, Antonio.”

Race shoved his shoulder playfully. “No, _Sean_ , I mean like first aid in general.” Spot grimaced at Race’s use of his birth name. “How did you know how to check for a concussion?”

“One of my foster moms was a paramedic. I picked some stuff up.” he said, grabbing the TV remote to change the channel.

“Where can I contact her to thank her for the knight in shining armour who saved me today?” Race asked, his expression as serious as it could get.

Spot’s stomach did a backflip. “Shut up, drama queen.”

“Without you, I could have _died_.” Race drawled, flinging his arms out and flopping into Spot’s lap.

Spot froze. _What is he doing?_ He could have sworn he saw a hint of a smirk playing at Race’s lips as he dramatically placed a hand over his forehead and pretended to faint. “What are we watching, Prince Charming?”

Spot decided to let him stay on his lap. “Keeping Up With the Kardashians, Princess.” he said, playing along. Spot’s chest tightened as Race shifted his position and started playing with his hand.

He didn’t know what this situation meant, but he could think about that later. No one else had to know how they were acting right now. For now, Spot was content with feeling the weight of Race’s head on his thigh and letting his fingers get tangled up with his friend’s.

“Five bucks says Kim’s gonna cry this episode.” Race said. _Same old Racetrack._

Was friend still the right word?

“You’re on, Higgins. I say it’ll be Kylie.”

Spot didn’t care what the right word was. This – whatever it was – felt right, and he was fine with that.


	2. you've got something on your cheek

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> wow davey u and jack sure are close pals huh

David pushed open the door of his new neighbourhood’s cafe, listening for the comforting tinkle of the bell that signalled a new customer. He nodded warmly at the barista - a short, ripped blond guy with a crutch - who beamed back at him.

“David, right? Large latte, extra shot?”

“Yeah, that’s me,” David laughed, “I’m meeting a friend today though.” He scanned the mostly empty tables. “I think I’ll order when they get here.”

The barista gave him another smile. “No problem, just come up when you’re ready.”

David slid into a booth and pulled out his phone, opening his texts to Jack. 

**crack jelly [3:13pm]:** b ther in 5 

David laughed softly at his friend’s lack of grammar, and the contact name he had set for himself.

**David [3:13 pm]:** Why do you type like that? 

He pressed send and set his phone down to pour himself a glass of water. He let his mind wander to his best friend, the enigmatic Jack Kelly. He’d just changed colleges, moved out of his parents house in Brooklyn Heights to Lower Manhattan, and managed to get a crappy apartment close to where Jack lived. Jack had insisted that they visit his favourite cafe together before David had even had the chance to unpack. 

Thus, here he was the next day, waiting for his friend to walk through the door. As much as he berated Jack for making last-minute plans and constantly being late, there was nothing he loved more than seeing him.

A loud buzz pulled David out of his daydream, and he looked down at his phone to see a reply from Jack.

**crack jelly [3:17 pm]:** bc grammar is 4 pussies

**crack jelly [3:17 pm]:** im Here

David couldn’t help the beat that his heart skipped when he heard the bell again. He watched as Jack walked over to the counter and fistbumped the barista, who then gestured to the table where David was sitting. His face lit up when he caught sight of David and immediately bounded over to greet him. 

“Davey! You’re here!”

David welcomed the enthusiastic hug Jack gave him, smiling when he recognised the familiar scent of oil paints that signalled his friend’s presence. 

“I’m here, of course I’m here, Jack.” David laughed.

“It’s been so long since I last saw you, though,” Jack said. “I was starting to think I’d imagined that you were coming back home.”

“Well, you didn’t. I’m home.”

Jack grinned at him and pulled him back into a hug, subconsciously rubbing his back as though to comfort him. 

Jack finally got over his initial excitement and sat down so the two could catch up on everything that had happened since they last saw each other. After ordering their drinks from the smiley barista, who Jack introduced as “Crutchie, yeah, I know, it’s a horrible nickname, but he got it as a kid, and he sticks with it now”, David enjoyed his friend’s animated chatter about what he and all their high school friends had been doing. He giggled when Jack started to lisp slightly, something he’d always done when he got excited. He found himself relaxing more than he had since his arrival in New York - Jack tended to have that effect on him. Whether he was trying to soothe David after a panic attack, or ranting about an overrated artist, Jack’s voice always filled David with a sense of calm, and he realised now how much he had missed it while away at college. 

Jack finally decided the conversation had been one-sided for long enough. “How ‘bout you, Davey? Penn State not for you?”

“Hm? Oh, no, I wasn’t happy there, I- oh, here are our drinks-”

“Thanks, Crutchie.”

“Thank you. Yeah, um, Penn State wasn’t really my thing, so I applied for NYU and here I am.”

“Well done, man.” Jack reached over the table and lightly punched David’s shoulder. “I’m really proud of you. Getting into NYU is a big deal.”

David laughed and brushed the comment off. “It was a transfer, so it wasn’t as hard-”

“No, dude, seriously.” He grabbed David’s hand and squeezed it. “I’m proud of you. You’re gonna go far.”

Jack’s words made him blush slightly - David was never very good with compliments - but he couldn’t deny that he  _ was _ proud of himself. He put his free hand over Jack’s, grateful for the support.

“It’s not just me, though. What’s this I hear about a prestigious art school?”

Jack smirked and put his hands behind his head, leaning into the worn out upholstery of the booth. “I got lucky.”

David snorted into his latte. “Bullshit.”

“I painted some pretty colours that the Academy happened to be into, you’re actually talented.” Jack said, shrugging.

“Says the guy who’s been painting sets for theatres since, like, 15 years old. You have talent, Jacky, I- what are you looking at like that?”

“Nothing, you just-” Jack snickered softly. “You’ve got something on your cheek.”

He leaned over the table and brushed David’s cheek to get rid of whatever the ‘thing’ was. Time seemed to slow down just a little, so that the eye contact that they kept lingered just a little too much, and Jack’s hand stayed on David’s face just a little too long. When Jack pulled his hand away, David felt his cheek burn where he had touched him. He was no stranger to Jack’s frequent touching - he was the kind of person who spoke through physical contact. This was normal, but something about that touch felt different. It said something David always knew existed, but he had never recognised it. It said something that made David suspect there hadn’t been anything on his cheek. 

“You were saying?”

David frowned at Jack. “I forgot.”

Jack smirked. There was definitely nothing on David’s cheek.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> america is confusing and im aussie so if i say anything dumb and inaccurate pls let a gal know


End file.
